


Divine Intervention

by finlyfoe



Category: Homeland
Genre: Comfort, Heaven, Other, post-6.12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:00:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finlyfoe/pseuds/finlyfoe
Summary: An attempt at poetic justice for Peter Quinn post-6.12If you feel easily offended by dissenting religious beliefs, consider whether to read on





	

**Author's Note:**

> Easter Sunday's fic as part of the post-6.12-fan fic calendar on LJ

“We don’t make mistakes, and no, you can’t talk to the boss.“

The guy at the entrance door gives Peter Quinn a gruffy once-over. “And now, name please?”  
“Peter Quinn. Or-“

“Oh – Peter Quinn! Why don’t you say so! In this case – through the lobby, first door on the left. The boss is already waiting for you.”

*

It sure must be a mistake… or a stupid dream. Very stupid. But if he’s dreaming, it means… fuck, he’s still alive. Can’t be – or can it? He drove into countless rounds of ammo.- Another koma, another time in limbo?  If he were one for crying, now’d be the perfect moment.

Instead he knocks at the door. “Come in”, a female voice goes, so he enters. “Sir, name’s Peter Quinn, got here by mistake.”

Only it’s not a Sir.

“We don’t make mistakes, Peter. Or would you prefer to be called Johnny?” The serene woman with supernaturally shining eyes beams at him. He’s lost for words.

“Ah don’t worry. No need to say anything, I can read your mind. One of the advantages of being God. With guys like you, it might take decades until we get to the point, don’t you think?” She winks. “I’m surprised you’re surprised I’m female by the way, given your many encounters with bossy women”, and she starts giggling, a very girlish, care free giggle. God is adorable, who would have thought.

“Thank you”, she says, “that’s a nice thing to think. I expected you to show up a year ago by the way – “

“So did I”, he murmurs,

“and I’m sad that you didn’t make better use of that additional time on earth, Peter…”, and all of a sudden tears dwell up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry”, and it’s true, he feels bad for hurting God, and he adds “I know I don’t belong here. I’m – a bad guy. I’ve always been. I have no – “, and points to his heart, “I never had.”

 “Not that nonsense again!” She rolls her eyes and gestures him to sit down. “Peter. Let me get this straight. I do know of all the deaths you inflicted, and I don’t approve of them. Well, maybe with the exception of one or two… But I’ve been briefed on your struggles. My team – they know I’m a sucker for struggling people. I really am. And of your accomplishments, and I don’t mean worldly stuff like saving a president’s life-”

“President-elect” he says, before he realizes he’s correcting God, and _that_ doesn’t sound like one of his better ideas. Well, he had some more really bad ones recently, come to think of it. The cartridges in Astrid’s gun, to mention one.

“She _is_ the president by now”, God goes, “and Jesus, people are in for a surprise…”

“Yes, mom, what’s up?” a bodiless voice floats through the room.

“Sorry, junior, my mistake”, and she explains: “Now you know why not to use the name of the Lord in vain - gets us all confused… - So, Peter, your accomplishments. You’re a fighter, and a selfless one. That is a rare."

She leafs through some index cards on the table, one eye-brow raised. "I can see where you came from – what happened to you – how you never had the chance to develop a stable sense of self value…"

Peter stares at the floor.

"... How easily some of you humans get on a wrong and painful track and things add up to a level of self-loathing you can’t take anymore... I’m aware I should sit down and work on an upgrade.”

She folds her hands, her fingers are long and slim and perfect.

“But… I love imperfection. I do. It’s not about succeeding, it’s about trying. And you tried hard. So hard. So selfless in your loyalties.”

She looks at him in silence and waits until he finally raises his eyes.

“Now tell me, Peterr, how do _you_ feel about it?”

“About what?”

“Your life. Your decisions. Your demise.”

He needs a few minutes because he’s got to think hard.

“What if I had shot Brody?”

God looks disappointed. “No, Peter, that’s not what I meant. This is not about doubting or correcting earlier decisions. What would be the use? You would have avoided some painful moments with Carrie Mathison, admitted… but she was your very own choice. You’ve always known her flaws …”

Peter sighs.

So does God.

“Are you aware why you chose her?”

“I’d rather not discuss Carrie.”

“Are you?”

He thinks hard.

“Cos I knew she was not available?”

God nods approvingly. “And then, when she might have been?”

“She left Brody… when he needed her. So I knew… she was not very likely to... and that was... what I wanted because deep down... I know I don’t deserve it.”

He has no idea what makes him talk this way. Must be some divine interference, pulling half-thoughts out from his entrails.

“Now you’ve got it. You thought you don’t deserve normal love and a normal life, is that correct?”

Peter nods.

“That’s why you kept running.”

“I didn’t run.” Peter sounds defensive.

God smiles.

“I know how much you hate how I trespass your privacy, but Peter, I’m God, what can I do. Plus those secretive ways of yours haven’t helped with the issue, do we agree on that?”

She smiles a catchy smile. Not catchy on Peter Quinn though.

"Peter… you never let anybody in. You would have been a great dad, are you aware? A reliable and faithful partner. Instead you made yourself invisible, and when you died, all that was left of you was a black garbage bag with unflattering clothes and an envelope with a few pictures of the ones you loved but never had close. That makes me so sad,” and she fights back some tears. “It also makes Carrie sad. Just mentioning…”

Peter furrows his brow. So many bad mistakes – maybe the worst mistake was listening to Carrie over and over again. He should have blown up Haqqani no matter what… it would have been over then and there, he had wanted it so badly, his very own meaningful purpose.... would saved him years of anguish and darkness... would have spared him this delusional moment under the starry sky… He doesn’t belong. He wasn't entitled. Never did. Never was.

God shakes her head in disbelief. “Oh Peter… You're wrong! I wish we would have had this prep talk right after Berlin…. You did make a difference to many lives, a pity you never claimed your merits. You’re as close to a hero as one can get nowadays. And what I like best: One who never wanted to make a name for himself but serve – that is… rare. And that’s why I decided to have you here, not downstairs.”

She scrutinizes his face.

“Plus – this unconditional, selfless love thing. Because, Peter… it’s one of the few heavenly things left on earth. Unflinching love for someone who doesn’t seem to deserve it… or at a time where she deserves it least… when all she does is wear you out… that’s what’s most needed. Sorry for being mushy.”

God doesn’t look sorry though but _very_ pleased with herself. Good thing Peter doesn’t notice, or he’d be in trouble. Instead he keeps staring at his bad hand. He can move his fingers. It’s a god damned miracle!

God sighs.

“I don’t like your giving in to darkness, Peter, much as I understand your position. How stubborn you were about choosing the road to hell and sticking to it! Figuratively speaking of course... never up to speaking up, which might have been the only chance to find peace – one way or the other. A grown-up guy who kisses a girl under a starry sky and leaves it at that! Your childish going back to black, even though you did an educated guess Syria would shatter your soul. Letting yourself be used as the hitman of a certain somebody who plays all lovable granddad with beard and mild eyes and is not a nice man, believe me! He, by the way, didn’t have any second thoughts about waking you from the coma, side effects or not, so  that one is not all on Carrie… but no need to discuss it today – … Peter, I gave you that immortal soul and I expected you to take better care of it.”

All of a sudden, God is no longer an amiable woman, fiery tongues flicker around her, her voice rolls like thunder.

Peter Quinn is stupefied and very uncomfortable.

“Your poor decisions regarding your interactions with other human beings is one thing. What I find even more annoying is the way you neglected my creation. Even if I say so myself, I’ve done quite an admirable job making this world. When was the last time you appreciated any of its wonders? A sunset, the wind in the willows, a soft rain in spring? I get that you’re estranged from people, choosing for yourself this weird existence in the shadows, but there’s so much more to life… I really wish you would have looked at some of my miracles and not only at those man-made abysses. Why didn’t you give yourself a break every so often! - and I don’t mean crack and BJs... We wouldn’t have to have this conversation right now, don’t you think?! You would have been more – resilient…”

She gets up, so does he – she obviously has changed her mind and will send him back to where he belongs: Hell. For all eternity.- 

-But now she hugs him, like a mother would hug a child. She’s tall, so tall, so it really feels like a motherly embrace, she touches his hair in a tender gesture, and he can't help it, silent tears are on their way, they take away the anguish, the self-hatred, the pain. Clinging to God's embrace, there’s no more darkness left in Peter Quinn – only serenity and ease.

Some moments of complete silence ensue. 

“I so needed that”, he mumbles. “Don’t send me back.”

“I know, my poor boy”, she says. “Six hugs in six years… a devil’s idea of love…”

*

The guy at the entrance wants a word before he shows him out. “You have an appointment at a jacuzzi and a full body massage for today. Non-erotic of course.”

“Appointment? I have a roster?”  
“This is heaven, you’re free to do what suits you best. For the transition period however we recommend a loose schedule. And the boss said you could do with some sensual pleasures.” The guy lowers his voice and comes really close. “Is there any part of your body that’s not … you know?”

Peter shrugs. 

The guy grins. “Self-explaining… - We've also booked you a table for two at an excellent Indian restaurant. Eating can be quite a sensual pleasure, in case you’ve forgotten… or never noticed in the first place…”

Peter nods, intent to do whatever it takes to be worthy of this.

“Do you”, God’s voice fills the room, “still think you gotta prove yourself worthy, Peter?! You are, don’t you get that to your fucking skull?”

Peter freezes.

“Sorry – I had the feeling this kind of language might better get through to you...” and Peter Quinn can hear the smile in God’s words. “Oh and in case you’re wondering why a table for two: A certain Astrid could hardly wait for you.”

  * END -



**Author's Note:**

> I’m not religious at all, but it was comforting to come up with this kind of poetic justice and closure. I'd be glad if it was also comforting to read.  
> 


End file.
